


A little bit of me

by lavishsqualor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 23:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9040073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavishsqualor/pseuds/lavishsqualor
Summary: Five times Sam gets off in the Impala, and one time Dean does too.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rivkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkat/gifts).



It wasn't something Sam did intentionally. At least, it didn't start out that way. 

The first time, well, the first time he caught himself completely off guard. Dean was up in some high-rise apartment, and Sam was stuck in the car in some parking garage. 

It was dark as fuck.

Apparently Dean thought the witness, a young thing with curls and a D-cup, had been looking at Sam with eyes that were a bit too oogly. He said having Sam there wouldn't allow her to remain a "reliable" witness. Sam hadn’t really noticed, he never did, but he guessed he agreed with Dean if that was in fact the case. Even if he only begrudgingly admitted it. 

Dean hated it when girls favored Sam over him, and Sam wasn't entirely sure that Dean insisted he interview her alone so that the conversation would remain unbiased or so he could try putting the moves on her. 

The longer Dean took up there, the more likely Sam figured that was the case. 

So it wasn't even his fault that his mind wandered to thoughts of what they might be doing. She was exactly Dean's type, and if one was being honest, eventually, Dean was _everybody’s_ type. 

Naturally, Sam's mind started to wander to what Dean might be doing up there with her. What Dean's hands would look like when they unbutton his suit jacket, when they loosen his tie. Things Sam didn't normally allow himself to focus on.

His dick took interest just as quickly. Sam didn't do anything about it at first, though, just gripped his thigh hard and closed his eyes. He slouched back in the seat and allowed himself to let his mind wander.

Over the years, Sam had walked in on his brother and plenty of girls. Growing up in and out of the Impala and various hotel rooms lent itself to a lack of privacy and a corresponding lack of modesty. At least on Dean's part. Sam's got a few very vivid memories; a couple where he knows for sure that Dean knew that he was watching, but didn't stop what he was doing, didn't stop the way he was making a feast of or pounding into his girl of the day. 

Sam wasn’t sure what he thought was hotter, either. 

The image of Dean on his knees, bent over a girl and going to town on her pussy with his mouth, well fuck. It was a good image and Sam couldn’t help sliding his hand into his pants. Dean liked to get his whole body into it; his neck and his back moving with his mouth and digging into the girl’s folds. 

But it was nothing like how he used his body when he was actually fucking a girl. As Sam tightened his grip on his dick and started to slide it up and down his length, images of Dean giving it to girls that have become faceless play through Sam’s mind on a loop. Dean gave his whole self to everything he did, and sex was no different. The muscles in his body would flex and bunch, so hard, and so rhythmically, pounding in and in and in. Sam jacked his cock with that same rhythm, little thrusts of his hips up into his grip timed to match the thrusting of Dean’s hips in his head.

He surprised himself when his mind’s Dean shuddered and came deep inside that girl, and Sam’s body let go as well. Warm slick slid down his hand and some mashed itself tight into his shorts, and he couldn’t catch his breath, alarmed at what he’d allowed himself to do. 

Fuck, he thought. He had nothing to clean the mess up with. Slowly, he slid his hand out of his pants and under the bench seat of the car, wiping his splooge off onto the fabric underneath the seat. He knew it was gross, but as he sat back and caught his breath, he realized he actually sorta liked it. Because fuck Dean, up there fucking some girl and leaving Sam out in the car. 

Sam could have his own fun.

\---

Once, when Sam was fourteen, maybe thirteen, he brought himself off in the backseat of the car. Dad was driving and Dean was sitting shotgun and Sam couldn't fucking help himself. He was a kid, and a constantly horny kid at that. A constantly horny kid who never had any space to himself, who was more often than not stuck sharing a bed with his older brother and forced into too quick showers so that they could all get back on the road and back to the hunt. 

It was nothing in particular that even set him off, that night.

He'd never considered risking it before, either. But Dad had the radio turned loud and Dean had his window halfway open, and so he thought he could get away with it. 

And he did. He snuggled deeper under his blanket and rubbed himself hard and fast. Didn't even have to focus on anything, just the fact that he was doing this in the _car_ , with Dad right in front of him and Dean there, too, his profile shimmering slightly with the shine of the moon through the side windows, and that was enough. Sam stifled the small moan that tried to escape as he came, and then he just breathed deep, tried to breathe quietly, needed to make sure he got away with it.

He hadn't really planned ahead, though, and hadn't thought about what he'd do with the _evidence_. He brought his hand to his mouth and sucked at one of his fingers, and then the next, weirded out by the taste of himself but not completely turned off. He licked away most of the clear-whitish liquid but wiped the remainder on the seat beneath him, sighing contentedly as he thought about leaving behind a little reminder of what he’d gotten away with. 

Sam hadn't even remembered that he'd done that; hadn't thought about it in years. It was like being back with Dean again, living and eating and sleeping in this car, _jacking off_ in this car triggered the memory. 

He was in even deeper than he'd thought. 

\---

It didn't take him long to catch on to what he was doing. He's always considered himself pretty self aware, thank you very much. 

But Dean seems to think that Sam is oblivious. He thinks he can just flirt with anything wearing heels and a skirt, and of course, Sam won't mind. 

Sam swears he can feel his body's temperature increase, degree by degree, until he's sweating through his shirt. He catches himself from breaking through the skin of his palm, but only just barely, four little half moon near-punctures bled white across his lifeline. 

Sam was alone in the car, again. And he was angry. This time, he was fucking angry. He was sick of this shit.

Rather than sit and steep in his fuming, he opted for the obvious alternative. One that would allow him his own release. 

He made quick work of his pants, snapping them open and down his thighs. He was already hard, and it wasn’t even a surprise. It was the new thing. Whenever he knew Dean was out getting his rocks off, Sam got upset. And then he got aroused. It was this fucked up thing inside of him that was hot and swirling and possessive. But he didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know what to do _about_ it, and so he dealt with it the only way he knew how. He brought himself off and left a little token for Dean.

It took almost nothing, this time. 

The images Sam had been playing in his mind for years had warped, recently, and now, while Dean was still bent over on his knees, there was no girl underneath him anymore. Now, his ass was bared and tilted up and he was grinding into his own hand, pushing back up into the air and up into Sam’s space. Sam imagined what it’d be like, Dean spread out in front of him, all warm and smooth and hard. It wasn’t hard to imagine, at all. He’d seen Dean in so many compromising positions over his life, it felt almost natural. 

Now that Sam was finally really giving into this, giving up and admitting that he wanted Dean, it was so easy. He imagined what it would be like, to spread his hand out over Dean’s ass, to slide his palm up over his back and down again, to slick his fingers down Dean’s crack towards his balls and squeeze gently. When he traced his hand back up Dean’s crack and felt the furl of muscle there twitch and curl, Sam’s grip on himself tightened and he came, fast as a whip. 

Fuck. He’d never let himself imagine that part of Dean before. He gets why, now.

As he comes down from one of the best orgasms of his life, his thighs still shaking and his chest still heaving, he reaches over and rubs his spunk-covered hand along the back of the steering wheel. He slides his hand along the whole of it, rubbing himself into the leather and around, real thin, not leaving any noticeable trace behind. He would know, though. He would know what he had left there. 

\---

Sam remembers when he first realized, when he figured out that the flip flop feelings he got in his chest when he looked at his brother weren't the feelings brothers normally elicited. He was eleven. And he had only recently learned what it was that he was supposed to do with his penis when it got all hard and sensitive. He knew what sex was, knew what Dean considered hot, big tits and little waists, long hair and perky asses. He tried thinking about those things while he rubbed his dick. But it didn't help. Instead, he found Dean's face flooding his mind. His pink lips and his tongue, his strong and sure hands. Sam's dick shook and spurt quicker than it ever had before. 

He knew right then that he was fucked.

But fucked didn't begin to cover it. Because here he was now, twenty-three and no better off than he had been. Worse off, in fact, if coming all over himself and leaving traces of himself in his brother's car were any indication. He was a sick and twisted fuck. 

It was just like him, though, to get fixated on something. And then, once he got into it, he just couldn't let it go. 

This, though? This he didn't even really want to stop. And he knew he should, knew he shouldn't have even started in the first place. But the joy he got from knowing that Dean was touching a little piece of Sam each and every time he grabbed the wheel, each and every time he changed the radio station, it was just too good to give up.

So instead of thinking too hard on it, he grabbed a tissue and wiped himself off, cleaned up his dick and his hands and then reached over and rubbed just a tiny bit of jizz into the grooves of the volume dial. He couldn’t help but smile to himself as he thought about Dean getting his hands on Sam every time he turned up the volume now, too. 

\---

Sam was getting desperate. Dean always made fun of him for not being into one night stands, and it didn’t bother him, because he wasn’t. He really wasn’t. But being back with Dean day in and day out was getting to him. Yeah, he was able to bring himself off, and it helped a little, but the tension just seemed to be getting worse and worse, and he realized that if he didn’t actually try to do something about it, well. Who knew what terrible thing he’d end up doing.

It wasn’t too hard to pick someone up. He got propositioned almost every time he and Dean spent some time in a bar. His height, his hair, whatever it was, girls noticed him. He just had to wait until a decent one came along. 

“Hey,” he heard from his right. He’d been leaning up against the bar, perfect place to look like one was up for being propositioned.

He turned towards her and was so pleasantly surprised. She would do perfectly.

“Hi there,” Sam said. He let an easy smile out as he looked her over, not shy with his eyes because he had a deliberate message he was trying to send. 

She leaned into him and placed a hand on his arm. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

Sam laughed, bright and open and with actual abandon, because for once he’d be free of worrying about Dean and free to worry about just himself. “I’m not,” he said. Then, “You want to get out of here?”

He knew how to be smooth when it was called for. 

The girl, Trish, he thought, was a little feisty, but that would do just fine. She liked his car, _Dean’s_ car, and thought the back seat would suit their purposes just fine. 

Sam was usually one for romance, had never actually done it in the Impala, but he couldn't be happier with how things were working out with Trish. 

They made do in the backseat. Sam’s type was petite, and she fit that category perfectly, and they squeezed right in nice and comfortable. He had her on his lap, soft pale thighs spread across him and she was grinding down nice and hard on his dick. So nice and hard that she was kinda making him just want to get to the good stuff. He lifted off the seat just a little to reach into his back pocket when she asked, all breathy, “You got a condom, baby?”

“You read my mind,” Sam said as he flipped her over onto her back and crawled between her thighs. She pulled down her panties and got them dangling off one ankle as Sam slid the condom down his dick. 

It had been so long since Sam had done this with a girl, but it wasn't like it was something one forgot how to do. And even though he didn't particularly enjoy meaningless sex, his dick was definitely interested in the proceedings. It was easy enough to curl himself over her tiny frame and really let go, easy enough to listen to her feedback and punch in harder when she wanted, because, after all, he wasn't about to just completely use her without making sure she enjoyed herself. 

He buried himself in the act, buried his face in her hair and his dick deep inside. Once he'd gotten her to come, made clear by the clenching tightness of her cunt and the accompanying moans, he figured he'd done his due diligence. He rutted into her harder, balancing on his knees and driving in deep. When he got to the brink, it was easy enough to pull out, since this really wasn't about coming _in_ someone anyway. 

He leaned back, but not too far, not so she could see, and yanked the condom off, tossing it to the floor just as his body seized up and he came, came all over the seat right between her spread legs. 

Inevitably, he collapsed back on top of her. But not without getting his hand in between them, not without smearing his hand in his jizz and rubbing it down and into the seat, mixing that little bit of himself with the bits of Dean that have been left there over the years. 

As he came down and back into himself, soft girl pliant beneath him but meaning nothing at all, he felt appalled with himself. God, that had been amazing, but it was so wrong. 

That was it. Things had gone too far.

Sam knew he had to do something. He just didn't know what.

\---

Sam was walking back to the Impala with two large coffees and a bag full of sustenance and why the hell did Dean park so far from the service center? 

It was freezing as hell outside and he was trying his best not to slip on the ice that they don’t salt for out this far in the parking lot, but when he got close he stopped immediately in his tracks. _Dean._

He was slouched down in the driver’s seat, his head thrown back and breathing deep, and was he really? 

But the coffee was getting cold, and Dean knew Sam would be coming back, so Sam made his way around the car, thumping his hand on the trunk as he rounded the side to try to alert Dean to his presence. 

Dean didn’t stop, though. Sam put the coffees in their holders, set the snacks at his feet, and Dean was _still_ working his dick. Incredulously, Sam said, “Dean?”

“What?” Dean huffed. “Saw you whacking it in here, figured it must be kinda nice. Thought I’d give it a try.”

“When?”

“When? You’ve done it more than once? Recently?”

Sam just averted his eyes.

“When are you even alone in here enough to do that?” Dean was thinking out loud. Sam saw it the second he made the connection. His eyes wide, Dean said, “You get all hot and bothered thinking about me off with some girl, Sammy?”

And Sam was caught. He was caught the fuck out and he had no idea how to even begin to hide everything that was showing on his face. Want, desperation, years of longing and loving and pain.

“Make you jealous, Sam?” Dean slowed his hand and tightened it around the base of his cock. “You get jealous of me pounding into some sweet pussy?”

“Maybe,” Sam said, and he wasn't even close to kidding himself.

Dean nodded. “Huh. You get jealous of _them_.”

Sam couldn’t stop himself from looking right at Dean. Didn't even really want to. It was now or fucking never. 

Something sparked, then. The energy in the car changed, a switch lit. And then Dean all but _growled_.

“Come on over here, Sammy,” Dean said. “Yeah. You gonna help your big brother?”

And that was fucking it. Sam was across the bench seat without conscious thought. He had his hand wrapped around the length of Dean before he even had a second to doubt himself, to doubt Dean. 

Dean shifted in his seat, curled a leg up and an arm around, grabbed Sam’s shoulder and leaned down into his neck, mumbled, “Thought you’d never…”

And now it was Sam’s turn to growl. He turned his head and leaned in closer to Dean, bowed down close to press their lips together. Dean faltered, but only for a second, and then he was parting his lips and letting Sam in. While the kiss deepened, while Sam’s grip on Dean tightened, Dean reached over and worked on Sam’s jeans, got the button popped and zip down, and then he was reaching in and pulling Sam out. They groaned together.

It was everything.

“Sam,” Dean said, just as he got his grip firm, and Sam couldn't keep himself together anymore. He grabbed Dean’s thigh as he crawled up on the bench, pulled Dean down and under him and Dean was just sighing, now, “Sam.” Sigh. “Yes.”

Sam got Dean under him and they were humping together, dicks out but fully clothed otherwise, and this was everything Sam thought he’d never have. He reached between and grabbed a hold of them both, dicks rubbing together and enclosed in his grasp, and Dean was falling apart beneath him, head back, back arched, and he was so fucking beautiful. Sam latched onto his throat, worried the sensitive skin below Dean’s jaw between his teeth, and he tightened his hand around them, fucked down hard, and that was it.

Dean was shaking, come shooting out between them and some of it slicked the way and Sam could not hold on. He lost himself in the feeling, just completely let his body go, spurting hard and fast against Dean. 

When he came to it was from a waking roll of Dean’s body. Sam shifted and slid to his side, and now that he was back to consciousness he instantly realized what he had on his hands. Their come, _both_ of theirs, mixed together and indistinguishable, and Sam’s body relaxed down into the seat and against his brother and he didn't think he had ever felt more at home than he did in that moment.

He may be a sick fuck, but at least he wasn't alone in it anymore.

\---

the end

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [rivkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkat). I know that I've enjoyed so much of their fic over the years, and so I tried my best to mix up their likes with one of their prompts. Hopefully the attempt at mashing mutual pining, angst, humor, and the Impala together worked out all right.
> 
> So many thanks to so many friends. Thanks to [applegeuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/applegeuse/pseuds/applegeuse) for talking ideas in the beginning, to [bewlaysister](https://twitter.com/bewlaysister) for cheering and bouncing ideas around with, to [dugindeep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep) for sprinting and cheerleading, and lastly to [BockVer](https://twitter.com/bockver) for a quick but thorough beta!


End file.
